All Kinds – A New York Times Connections Game Poem
An electric pharaoh
and an army of AI writers
crawl like ants to sugar,
tripping over themselves to tailor
the laughing gas to your unique mold.
They copy your shape.
They are humor carpenters.
They fashion your favorites.
They feed you starched slop –
the leftover pasta water of
cute cats scurrying across
telephone lines.
Fire up your screen and
keep right on scrolling.
Modern utilities always
adapt to fit one’s needs.
A Youtube short of me reading the poem as the words get checked off: